twist
07-28-2013, 12:04 PM
The client was going on and on and I felt my fists clench. I tried to smile but caught sight of myself in the mirror on my desk. My smile looked like I’d had recent plastic surgery. “Yeah, I’m sorry you’ve had a bad experience with our agency but it really isn’t our fault,”I said for the third time, glancing at the wall clock behind him. I hated my job.
Just then the boss stepped out of his office swinging his golf club. “Problem?” he inquired casually.”Just give him my e-mail and I’ll sort it.” he said and left.
I knew he wouldn’t just like he hadn’t replied to the fifty other emails in his inbox. Right then I felt like taking a swing at him too.
I had been working at Farelli’s discreet detective agency for two months as a receptionist. After a year on the dole I was grateful for any paid work.
The last receptionist had left after three months without giving notice. I guess that should have set alarm bells ringing.
The number of disgruntled clients was growing. The reason being that the two detectives hired by the agency weren’t exactly discreet. Clients’ spouses would often spot them parked across the road with dark glasses and conspicuous black macs watching them through their binoculars.
This would inevitably lead to the client calling us to complain as their marriage was now irreparably damaged and they were none the wiser.
The two detectives Donato and Marco were distant cousins of Mr Farelli. They were family – he couldn’t fire them. I looked out of the window onto the golf course and picked up the binoculars Donato had carelessly flung down on my desk earlier.
Mr Farelli was taking a shot and with their backs turned were the unmistakable figures of Donato and Marco. I wished I was related to Mr Farelli so I could be out on the golf course instead of in the grotty office. On second thought, perhaps not.
Later that evening I sat eating a t.v dinner while watching my favourite detective show. It was the last episode. He looked straight at me through the t.v screen. We had to save Farelli’s.
I got to work early the next morning. I planned to go through Mr Farelli's emails myself and answer them. What would Columbo say, I wondered, with my hand on my forehead. Just then the phone rang which made me jump.
"Farelli's discreet detective agency," I answered smoothly.
This is Mr Fung.
"How can I help, Mr Fung?"
He paused, then continued in a Chinese accent, "Someone is watching me in my restaurant and yesterday I was followed to my house. I am afraid to go to the police. Please help me!"
"Our two detectives will meet you this evening, 7pm here at Farelli's."
Mr Fung arrived five minutes early. He was five feet tall and about sixty years old. His clothes looked expensive but the jacket was two sizes too big. Donato and Marco were late and Mr Fung grew more and more nervous. Every other minute he mopped his brow with his hankie. Suddenly tyres squealed outside.
"That'll be them," I reassured him. Donato followed by Marco burst in.
"Mr Fung, please accept our apologies. We were delayed on a case." I could tell from the tomato ketchup on Donato's face that he was lying. I gestured to Donato to wipe his face.
Mr Fung looked very relieved to see them however and gave us as much information as he could. Marco was taking down details in his notebook. As I got up to make a cup of tea for Mr Fung I passed by Marco. Glancing over his shoulder I could see that he'd just been doodling.
So I decided to check the restaurant out myself after work the next day.
I walked it taking a short cut through a couple of alleyways. I heard a man shouting in Cantonese in one of the flats above my head. The night was humid and the windows were open. I really wished I hadn't worn my old, tea-stained raincoat now. Anyway, my Cantonese was a little rusty but I could swear he was saying "Tim Lee has escaped from prison."
Soon enough, I was across the road from 'Kung Fung'. Chinese lanterns hung outside and under them, clearly outlined stood Donato and Marco. Donato was peering through the window through his binoculars and Marco was busy tucking into a Chinese takeaway. I took cover behind a delivery van. The humidity had almost vacuum-packed my raincoat against me. Boy it was a hot night!
Just then, to my horror, a tall Chinese guy dressed in black with a greasy ponytail appeared out of nowhere and held a semi-automatic to Donato's head. The pair were bundled into a black van. Mr Fung was being led blindfolded from his restaurant by another tall Chinese man with slicked back hair. He too was pushed into the black van. The two tall Chinese men then jumped into the front.
The delivery van engine was running and the driver I assumed must still be in the restaurant.
Wait!I was a receptionist; what on earth was I even doing here?
"This is your chance" said Colombo in my head. "Get in the van and follow them. You can do this."
"Just one more question" I asked, "what if they see me and shoot me?"
I delved deep into the right hand pocket and pulled out a doughnut. I took a couple of bites and felt immediately better with the sugar rush.
I stayed close behind the black van but not too close. The boys must be scared stiff. Their other cases had just involved spying on cheating spouses and finding stolen cars. This was the first time I'd seen them exposed to mortal danger. Donato and Marco shared an apartment together -no-one would even miss them tonight...
I glanced in the rear view mirror. "Get back to the case - what did Mr Fung tell you," said Columbo.
Right, Mr Fung said that he owned a restaurant back in Hong Kong. People would travel from China and Japan just for a taste of his Duck Tian ( heaven). It really was to die for.
Other chefs had been after his recipe for years but it had been a well guarded secret passed on through four generations. His biggest rival Yimm Lee had a son, Tim, who grew up to be a vicious thug. He had threatened Mr Fung several times for his recipe. Then one night Tim Lee torched his restaurant. He was caught and imprisoned for ten years. Unfortunately nothing remained of the restaurant but a pile of ashes. Mr Fung then decided to leave Hong Kong and start afresh in Chinatown, San Francisco. It was hard work but he built his restaurant business up again. He was doing very well and his Duck Tian was a hit in San Francisco too. That is until Tim Lee escaped from prison and hounded him once again. He certainly meant to take the recipe back to his father this time. Mr Fung had instantly recognised him even though the ponytail was new. Tim Lee was more menacing than ever. Prison must have brought out the worst in him.
Just then the black van screeched to a halt in front of a large warehouse. Tim Lee and his accomplice got out and seemed to be arguing with each other.
I only managed to make out bits of the heated exchange. Surely 'chun' meant idiot and he was drawing his finger across his throat. I felt sick as I realized he meant Donato and Marco. "Time to move," I said under my breath, and slipped out of the van as quietly as I could. The accomplice appeared more cautious and seemed to suggest that they should take everyone into the warehouse. Mr Fung was led in first. "Move," barked Tim Lee to the boys pushing them in roughly.
"Okay, okay, we're moving. No need to manhandle us," protested Donato. "Let's do this in a civilized way." Tim Lee hit him on the head with the butt of his gun and Donato slumped to the floor.
"We've got a tricky situation here. You've got to get into the warehouse quick as you can. I'm right behind you," Colombo reassured me. I found a broken window round the back, and opened it. I just managed to squeeze in and found myself in a small office. I stepped onto something soft in the dark. It was Donato, still unconscious. The warehouse had been transformed into a Chinese kitchen. Mr Fung was being led, still blindfolded. His hand was placed on a raw duck. "You know what you have to do, old man. Cook Duck Tian. All the ingredients you could possibly need are here. But you will cook blindfolded!" Both men cackled nastily.
“Are you crazy?” yelled Marco unexpectedly. Tim Lee swung round to stare at him incredulously. “I mean, you can’t let him cook with a blindfold. He could burn himself or–or chop his finger off…” he trailed off realizing he’d really riled Lee. In response to his outburst, Lee pointed his gun at Marco’s head. “I’ve had enough of you,” he hissed.
The duck suddenly went whizzing through the air and knocked the gun out of Lee’s hand. Mr Fung had thrown it with the flair of a circus knife thrower. This was too good an opportunity to miss. I sprang out of the office and made a dive for the gun.
“Don’t let them see that it’s the first time you’ve held a gun,” whispered Columbo.
“You two - against the wall. Throw down any weapons.” I ordered. The accomplice dropped his gun.
“What the..” Marco began open-mouthed.
“Yes, Marco,” I quickly interrupted “why don’t you take the blindfold off Mr Fung.”
Donato, now conscious, staggered out of the office clutching his head. He saw me and stopped dead in his track.
“Lieutenant Columbo,” he whispered in disbelief, “You saved us!”
The client was still droning on. Mr Farelli was leaving his office swinging his golf club.”Problem?” he inquired…
“Yeah, I quit, I’m going to be a writer!” I replied.
Later that evening I went to Kung Fung’s and ordered the duck Tian. I glanced at the ‘Hong Kong Times’ on my table. A picture of a beaming Tim Lee was on the front with the caption ‘Chef of the year’.
Mr Fung was serving me and followed my gaze.
“My son-in-law,” he said proudly. He makes duck Tian even better than me!
Everyone clapped as a shy, pony-tailed young man stepped out of the kitchen and took a bow.
“He’s family now,”grinned Mr Fung.
Just then the boss stepped out of his office swinging his golf club. “Problem?” he inquired casually.”Just give him my e-mail and I’ll sort it.” he said and left.
I knew he wouldn’t just like he hadn’t replied to the fifty other emails in his inbox. Right then I felt like taking a swing at him too.
I had been working at Farelli’s discreet detective agency for two months as a receptionist. After a year on the dole I was grateful for any paid work.
The last receptionist had left after three months without giving notice. I guess that should have set alarm bells ringing.
The number of disgruntled clients was growing. The reason being that the two detectives hired by the agency weren’t exactly discreet. Clients’ spouses would often spot them parked across the road with dark glasses and conspicuous black macs watching them through their binoculars.
This would inevitably lead to the client calling us to complain as their marriage was now irreparably damaged and they were none the wiser.
The two detectives Donato and Marco were distant cousins of Mr Farelli. They were family – he couldn’t fire them. I looked out of the window onto the golf course and picked up the binoculars Donato had carelessly flung down on my desk earlier.
Mr Farelli was taking a shot and with their backs turned were the unmistakable figures of Donato and Marco. I wished I was related to Mr Farelli so I could be out on the golf course instead of in the grotty office. On second thought, perhaps not.
Later that evening I sat eating a t.v dinner while watching my favourite detective show. It was the last episode. He looked straight at me through the t.v screen. We had to save Farelli’s.
I got to work early the next morning. I planned to go through Mr Farelli's emails myself and answer them. What would Columbo say, I wondered, with my hand on my forehead. Just then the phone rang which made me jump.
"Farelli's discreet detective agency," I answered smoothly.
This is Mr Fung.
"How can I help, Mr Fung?"
He paused, then continued in a Chinese accent, "Someone is watching me in my restaurant and yesterday I was followed to my house. I am afraid to go to the police. Please help me!"
"Our two detectives will meet you this evening, 7pm here at Farelli's."
Mr Fung arrived five minutes early. He was five feet tall and about sixty years old. His clothes looked expensive but the jacket was two sizes too big. Donato and Marco were late and Mr Fung grew more and more nervous. Every other minute he mopped his brow with his hankie. Suddenly tyres squealed outside.
"That'll be them," I reassured him. Donato followed by Marco burst in.
"Mr Fung, please accept our apologies. We were delayed on a case." I could tell from the tomato ketchup on Donato's face that he was lying. I gestured to Donato to wipe his face.
Mr Fung looked very relieved to see them however and gave us as much information as he could. Marco was taking down details in his notebook. As I got up to make a cup of tea for Mr Fung I passed by Marco. Glancing over his shoulder I could see that he'd just been doodling.
So I decided to check the restaurant out myself after work the next day.
I walked it taking a short cut through a couple of alleyways. I heard a man shouting in Cantonese in one of the flats above my head. The night was humid and the windows were open. I really wished I hadn't worn my old, tea-stained raincoat now. Anyway, my Cantonese was a little rusty but I could swear he was saying "Tim Lee has escaped from prison."
Soon enough, I was across the road from 'Kung Fung'. Chinese lanterns hung outside and under them, clearly outlined stood Donato and Marco. Donato was peering through the window through his binoculars and Marco was busy tucking into a Chinese takeaway. I took cover behind a delivery van. The humidity had almost vacuum-packed my raincoat against me. Boy it was a hot night!
Just then, to my horror, a tall Chinese guy dressed in black with a greasy ponytail appeared out of nowhere and held a semi-automatic to Donato's head. The pair were bundled into a black van. Mr Fung was being led blindfolded from his restaurant by another tall Chinese man with slicked back hair. He too was pushed into the black van. The two tall Chinese men then jumped into the front.
The delivery van engine was running and the driver I assumed must still be in the restaurant.
Wait!I was a receptionist; what on earth was I even doing here?
"This is your chance" said Colombo in my head. "Get in the van and follow them. You can do this."
"Just one more question" I asked, "what if they see me and shoot me?"
I delved deep into the right hand pocket and pulled out a doughnut. I took a couple of bites and felt immediately better with the sugar rush.
I stayed close behind the black van but not too close. The boys must be scared stiff. Their other cases had just involved spying on cheating spouses and finding stolen cars. This was the first time I'd seen them exposed to mortal danger. Donato and Marco shared an apartment together -no-one would even miss them tonight...
I glanced in the rear view mirror. "Get back to the case - what did Mr Fung tell you," said Columbo.
Right, Mr Fung said that he owned a restaurant back in Hong Kong. People would travel from China and Japan just for a taste of his Duck Tian ( heaven). It really was to die for.
Other chefs had been after his recipe for years but it had been a well guarded secret passed on through four generations. His biggest rival Yimm Lee had a son, Tim, who grew up to be a vicious thug. He had threatened Mr Fung several times for his recipe. Then one night Tim Lee torched his restaurant. He was caught and imprisoned for ten years. Unfortunately nothing remained of the restaurant but a pile of ashes. Mr Fung then decided to leave Hong Kong and start afresh in Chinatown, San Francisco. It was hard work but he built his restaurant business up again. He was doing very well and his Duck Tian was a hit in San Francisco too. That is until Tim Lee escaped from prison and hounded him once again. He certainly meant to take the recipe back to his father this time. Mr Fung had instantly recognised him even though the ponytail was new. Tim Lee was more menacing than ever. Prison must have brought out the worst in him.
Just then the black van screeched to a halt in front of a large warehouse. Tim Lee and his accomplice got out and seemed to be arguing with each other.
I only managed to make out bits of the heated exchange. Surely 'chun' meant idiot and he was drawing his finger across his throat. I felt sick as I realized he meant Donato and Marco. "Time to move," I said under my breath, and slipped out of the van as quietly as I could. The accomplice appeared more cautious and seemed to suggest that they should take everyone into the warehouse. Mr Fung was led in first. "Move," barked Tim Lee to the boys pushing them in roughly.
"Okay, okay, we're moving. No need to manhandle us," protested Donato. "Let's do this in a civilized way." Tim Lee hit him on the head with the butt of his gun and Donato slumped to the floor.
"We've got a tricky situation here. You've got to get into the warehouse quick as you can. I'm right behind you," Colombo reassured me. I found a broken window round the back, and opened it. I just managed to squeeze in and found myself in a small office. I stepped onto something soft in the dark. It was Donato, still unconscious. The warehouse had been transformed into a Chinese kitchen. Mr Fung was being led, still blindfolded. His hand was placed on a raw duck. "You know what you have to do, old man. Cook Duck Tian. All the ingredients you could possibly need are here. But you will cook blindfolded!" Both men cackled nastily.
“Are you crazy?” yelled Marco unexpectedly. Tim Lee swung round to stare at him incredulously. “I mean, you can’t let him cook with a blindfold. He could burn himself or–or chop his finger off…” he trailed off realizing he’d really riled Lee. In response to his outburst, Lee pointed his gun at Marco’s head. “I’ve had enough of you,” he hissed.
The duck suddenly went whizzing through the air and knocked the gun out of Lee’s hand. Mr Fung had thrown it with the flair of a circus knife thrower. This was too good an opportunity to miss. I sprang out of the office and made a dive for the gun.
“Don’t let them see that it’s the first time you’ve held a gun,” whispered Columbo.
“You two - against the wall. Throw down any weapons.” I ordered. The accomplice dropped his gun.
“What the..” Marco began open-mouthed.
“Yes, Marco,” I quickly interrupted “why don’t you take the blindfold off Mr Fung.”
Donato, now conscious, staggered out of the office clutching his head. He saw me and stopped dead in his track.
“Lieutenant Columbo,” he whispered in disbelief, “You saved us!”
The client was still droning on. Mr Farelli was leaving his office swinging his golf club.”Problem?” he inquired…
“Yeah, I quit, I’m going to be a writer!” I replied.
Later that evening I went to Kung Fung’s and ordered the duck Tian. I glanced at the ‘Hong Kong Times’ on my table. A picture of a beaming Tim Lee was on the front with the caption ‘Chef of the year’.
Mr Fung was serving me and followed my gaze.
“My son-in-law,” he said proudly. He makes duck Tian even better than me!
Everyone clapped as a shy, pony-tailed young man stepped out of the kitchen and took a bow.
“He’s family now,”grinned Mr Fung.